Page 127 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

Before I can process this sudden shift, his mouth descends on mine with devastating precision, swallowing any question I might have formed with a kiss that scorches through my system like wildfire.

There's nothing tentative about his approach. His lips claim mine with absolute certainty, tongue sweeping into my mouth with a possessive intensity that makes my knees weaken beneath me. The hand at my throat maintains just enough pressureto communicate dominance without restriction, his other arm wrapping around my waist to hold me firmly against him.

A moan escapes me, the sound swallowed by his hungry mouth as he walks me backward until I feel the solid surface of a bookshelf against my shoulder. His body presses closer, effectively pinning me between unyielding wood and the hard planes of his chest.

"Atticus," I gasp when he finally allows me to breathe, his mouth moving to my neck with a predatory focus that sends shivers cascading down my spine.

Mine, his body all but growls in silent possession.

Heat flares through my veins at the sudden, undeniable claim.

There is no hesitation in the way he pulls me against him, the solid wall of his chest pressing flush against my back, his scent —dark, rich, and laced with the subtle hint of magic— wrapping around me like a vice.

The air is sucked from my lungs in a single, sharp inhale as the unmistakable hardness of his body molds against my spine, every rigid muscle aligned with deliberate purpose.

He doesn’t give me a chance to process, doesn’t give me time to second-guess, because his lips crash into mine in a searing, brutal kiss that steals every rational thought from my mind. His tongue sweeps into my mouth with sinful mastery, claiming, demanding, taking.

Damn…I need this so fucking bad.

I arch into him instinctively, needing more, needing him, and he growls in approval. His fingers tighten around my throat—not to constrict, but to anchor, to command my focus entirely on the fire consuming us both. It’s not enough. It’s never enough with Atticus.

His free hand moves to my waist, fingers splaying wide as he grips my hip and pulls me harder against him.

The proof of his desire presses insistently into the curve of my ass, and a shudder wracks through me at the sheer intensity radiating from him.

“Five minutes,” he murmurs against my lips, voice rough, strained with a need barely leashed. “Five fucking minutes, Gwen. And I’m going to make every second count.”

I don’t get the chance to respond before his mouth is on me again—this time at my throat, his fangs scraping against the sensitive skin.

I whimper, my nails digging into his forearms, but the sound only fuels him. He nips at my pulse point, just enough to send a sharp spike of pleasure straight between my thighs.

He must feel it, the way my body reacts to him, because he chuckles darkly, his breath hot against my skin.

“Always so responsive,” he muses, his grip on my hip tightening as he turns me in his arms, my back hitting the bookshelf behind me. He presses forward, caging me in, his thigh slipping between my legs to part them just enough. “I could make you come just like they do, but so much faster. Make you cum again and again,” he continues, rolling his hips in a slow, deliberate grind that has me biting back a moan. “So fucking eager for me.”

“Atticus—”

He swallows whatever I was going to say with another kiss, this one slower, deeper, carrying the weight of everything left unsaid.

His fingers slide beneath the hem of my uniform shirt, palms rough against my feverish skin. I arch into his touch, desperate for more, but he keeps his pace excruciatingly slow, teasing, exploring, mapping every inch like he’s committing it to memory.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs, his lips tracing the line of my jaw. “How many times I had towatch you with them, knowing I was the one who should have been in their place.”

A flash of something sharp flickers in his crimson gaze—possession, jealousy, the weight of years spent apart. I reach for him, cupping his jaw, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Then take what’s yours,” I whisper, the words both a challenge and an invitation.

I become a bold bitch when it’s with another vampire. I’m proving that theory in real-time.

The shift is instant.

His restraint snaps like a thread pulled too tight, and suddenly, there’s no more patience, no more teasing. His hands are everywhere at once, pushing up my shirt, yanking at the fastenings of my pants.

I help him, fumbling with the buttons even as his fingers skim down my stomach, lower, until?—

I gasp, my head falling back against the shelf as his fingers find me, pressing into the heat pooling between my thighs.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his breath coming out in a harsh exhale. “So wet for me already.”

I can’t speak, can’t think.

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